Notes from the Slush Pile

Remember that part when Brad does the Jamaican accent?

While I cannot type out for you here the submissions to the publishing co. I'm interning at due to legal and moral issues, I can describe plots! I was given a pile of submissions to sift through. Most are mediocre. Some are lovely. But only one reached the great height of hilarious horrible-ness. This nameless person, god bless 'em, mailed us a poem that was so exquisitely bad that I immediately wanted to share it with the world, i.e. you guys. Here's the gist:

It's the middle of the night in the 1950s. A mysterious man dressed all in black, save for a white shirt, comes knocking at the young narrator's door. He asks if he can take a tour of the house, as it was listed for sale. The narrator's pajama-wearing parents deny it's availability [and here the poet has some brilliant dialog work that I wish with all my little heart I could re-produce for you. Let's just say there are a lot of exclamation points, dashes and ellipses (although the ellipses are like, 8 periods instead of the standard ...), and at one point the mother says, "my lord no" in italics. ITALICS]. The mysterious visitor shows them a copy of the ad in the real estate pages to prove his claim. Then the young narrator spies the date on the newspaper: it's from 15 years in the future! AHHHH! There are several line breaks, marked by asterisks, and then the narrator tells the reader that several years passed and eventually the house DID go for sale--the same year that the future-paper predicted! line break, asterisks, followed by ellipses--Why did the house go for sale? Because mamma died exclamation point exclamation point exclamation point.

A perfect blend of Hitchcock, Goosebumps, and the under-rated 1990s masterpiece Meet Joe Black, no????????.......*******----.....!!!!!!!!!